


Dismantle Me

by Bluebluebaby



Category: Dead To Me (TV)
Genre: F/F, arson but make it romantic, gals being pals and romanticizing murder, i'm sorry that i could not stop myself from writing this but i hope you like it, jen addresses her midlife crisis by killing rapists it's fine, maybe skip chapter two if you don’t like descriptions of blood, the slightest hint of choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26544757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluebluebaby/pseuds/Bluebluebaby
Summary: Jen realizes she likes killing. And Judy likes THAT.(cw: murder, references to rape/sexual assault)
Relationships: Judy Hale/Jen Harding
Comments: 64
Kudos: 93





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title from the Distillers (I think Jen would absolutely listen to Coral Fang after killing rapists) 
> 
> i do not endorse any violence irl other than punching nazis at every available opportunity but... liz kinda laid the groundwork for this one, what can i say, i followed the muse. 
> 
> Thanks to @queenC_13, @bethchildz, and @soleil01 for betaing and encouraging... this

There’s a restlessness inside Jen, growing stronger every day. 

At first she thinks it’s guilt, the ever present threat of arrest hovering over her head, but there’s too much dissatisfaction amidst this particular malaise for that to be quite right. 

Still, she hugs her boys a little tighter that night, just to be safe.

And then, she ruminates. 

Jen doesn’t _ actually  _ feel guilty about killing Steve. 

Maybe about the ways in which her actions complicated the lives of those around her, endangered her family. Then again, they’re all together now, happy, and hey, if she hadn’t murdered Steve, Judy may have never come back into their lives. 

(Pastor Wayne was right- when god closes a vehicular manslaughter, he opens a blunt force trauma.) 

She can’t remember all the details of that night— it’s like a film reel worn down after years of use, flickering in and out— but in pristine technicolor the rush of power when Steve had fallen, and every neuron lit up in a moment of victory. 

She wants to feel that again. 

_

Jen certainly doesn’t buy into Christopher’s Christian bullshit, or Judy’s woo woo crystal nonsense, but she recognizes that there is a clear moment when a soul departs a body. 

She’d felt it for the first time at nineteen, in a sterile hospital room that smelled like illness (and then death). Her mother had been “gone” a long time, taking nearly two days to die, and being non-responsive for all of them, but there was, in fact, an energetic shift after the last breath, a settling in the room despite the lack of visual signals. 

Steve’s death is quick and (until the moment she strikes him) unexpected, but the shift is the same. 

Many things in this world are shades of gray, but  _ alive _ and  _ dead  _ are stark black and white. 

She wonders if Judy felt it, when she hit Ted. 

Probably not, since the cops say he died later, after bleeding out. Although Judy’s much more sensitive than her- she could have felt some vital shift in the life force that indicated what was to come. 

She asks as much, on the patio, after two glasses of wine and a lull in the conversation. 

“I- I didn’t realize until after the fact that I’d hit a person. So no, with everything going on, I didn’t feel anything but my own panic. I’ve been present for a few deaths at work, though, and I get what you mean… about the energy dissipating… What did you feel, with Steve?” 

It’s the first time she’s asked about it like this- not “what did he say to you?” or “what did you do to him?” but wanting to be in Jen’s mind in the moment she took a man’s life from him. 

Her eyes are wide, her breathing heavy, and if Jen didn’t know Judy so well, she would ascribe the reaction to fear. 

But it’s not fear, at least, not entirely.

It’s _ desire _ . 

“I felt… Jesus, Jude, I felt…  _ powerful _ .” 

Just verbally referencing it floods her with that rush of superhuman strength, the feeling of being unstoppable. In a split second she’d gone from watching Steve walk away to ending his existence entirely, and she will _ never  _ permit herself to suffer the anger of an entitled man again. 

“Yeah?” 

Her voice is raspy, as if the one word takes all the effort she can muster. 

Jen meets her eyes, nodding. 

It pales in comparison, this particular rush of power, but Jen still shivers at the feeling of Judy’s blatant  _ want. _

  
  


“Like… I finally had control of something, for the first time in months… That moment, when he  _ died _ ? It was like everything _ lifted _ , for a second. Pure clarity.“ 

“Why haven’t you told me before?” 

(And now, Judy has the nerve to sound  _ hurt,  _ which is ridiculous, considering she wanted to give the man a proper funeral at sea, it’s not like Jen was going to gloat about how good killing him made her feel, come on.) 

“Geez, Jude, I thought maybe you’d think I’m a fucking psycho.” 

“Oh, I  _ know _ you’re a fucking psycho,” Judy laughs, before turning somber. “I’ve accepted that the world is probably a better place without Steve in it. And, in a way, you might have stopped him from killing me, I’ve accepted that, too.” 

Jen moves closer, squeezes her hand, reminding her that for all they’ve been through she would never harm her. 

“I’d do it a million times over if it kept someone from hurting you.” 

“Oh, so not just to feel like a god among women?” 

(It’s a joke, and it’s not at all a joke.) 

“I don’t want to kill everyone I see, Judy, even if I act like it.” 

“A woman with discriminating tastes,” Judy hums, still piercing Jen with her eyes, looking at her hands in awe. 

This is the fundamental difference between the two of them, Jen knows. She would kill for Judy, and Judy would die for her. Somewhere along the way Judy has devoted her allegiances entirely to Jen, no longer even leaving room for the memory of Steve. 

The thought shouldn’t make Jen’s body light up with arousal. 

It very much does. 

  
  


There’s a long pause as Judy ruminates on what Jen’s told her, in which all she can hear is their breathing and the muffled falling of the waves. 

Then, barely audible: 

“Do you miss it?” 

(Maybe she’s not the only one who’s picked up on the restlessness.)

“Sometimes,” Jen takes a long swallow, feels Judy’s eyes burning against the line of her throat. 

“More often than not.” 

“ _ Oh _ ,” Judy gasps, and of all the ways Jen had idly imagined this could someday play out, this was not one of them. 

“I’m… gonna go to bed. Too much wine,” Jen waves her hand, as if to erase the incredibly morbid and sexually charged conversation they’ve just had. 

“Yeah, I’ll just... “ Judy gestures behind her, to the guest house. 

Jen gets herself off, for the first time in months (god, she hasn’t even felt the slightest urge, which is sad, really), knowing that Judy is doing the same. 

She’s grateful for Judy’s removal of Ted’s acoustic treatments- with her window open she can hear the echo of Judy’s cry as she comes. 

_ 

On Tuesday mornings, Jen meets Perez for coffee. Their usual is the kind of shitty place Jen loves, where the idea of putting a heart in a latte is offensive to the baristas, hell, the idea of a latte is offensive. 

Jen can fucking handle black coffee- she’s killed a guy, after all. 

Jen actually kind of likes their hangs, considering that the relationship has historically been a contentious one. A small gesture of friendship each week is a small price to pay for the secret Perez has kept; she wouldn’t expect to enjoy it, as well, but she does. 

As of this week, Perez is eligible for retirement, and she intends to take it. Hastings has been convicted, Prager finally has his shit together enough to make detective, and she’s fucking _ tired.  _

“There’s this one case that haunts me, though. Serial rapist that I know is guilty as sin, but the DA insisted there wasn’t enough evidence to bring charges and somehow every witness got intimidated out of testifying. Funny how that happens when they have money and connections, isn’t it?” 

Jen scoffs into her mug. 

“And yet you derided my white wine vigilantism. I’m glad you finally recognize how ineffectual the criminal justice system is.” 

“Yeah, you’re pushing it. But let’s just say I would not be upset if karma took its course on that fucker.” 

“Tell me more about the guy.” 

Perez laughs. 

“Yeah, maybe once I’m officially off the force.” 

They meander back to talk of the future, of online dating and starting second careers and whether Perez should get a dog or cat, but all Jen can think about is bringing that fucker to justice. 

(And then telling Judy about it.) 

_

The guy isn’t hard to track down, after she joins Perez for beers under the pretense of proofing her tinder profile. She’s a lightweight with a chip on her shoulder, and more than happy to both name the offender and his M.O. 

She bides her time waiting for the boys to have a weekend with Lorna (it’s weird to  _ ask  _ for it, knowing how she intends to spend her time) making a plan.

When the day comes, and she tells Judy she’ll be out all night, not to wait up, and she sincerely hopes Judy’s dismay is only temporary. 

Aaron Lewis is a venture capitalist and son of a former state senator, handsome in the way that money buys, allegedly boyish despite being on the dark side of 45. 

Jen finds him at the bar he frequents (because a bastard who got away with it will change none of his behaviors), plays into his type (sad divorcees, how serendipitous), and pretends to drink the wine he clearly roofied, slurring her speech and leaning heavily on him. 

She’s laced his drink with fentanyl (thanks, Lorna), but he doesn’t need to know that yet.

The way he paws at her in the cab to the hotel is disgusting, but she bites back the revulsion with the knowledge of what’s to come. 

He’s surprised when she pushes him down on the bed, unbuckling his belt, but pleasantly so. 

“Okay, Tiger, slow your roll we got all night.” 

She brings a hand to his face, sweetly, before prying his mouth open and dumping in more pills, then closing it and forcing him to swallow. 

He’s already pretty far gone, but not so far he doesn’t recognize what’s happening to him, eyes blinking rapidly in terror. 

Jen takes the belt and binds his hands.

“Sorry, baby, living is a privilege and you’ve wasted it. Thanks for the wine, though.” 

. 

The drugs could conceivably stop his heart, but Jen wants to feel this, wants to know, beyond a doubt, she’s stopped this man from ever hurting anyone again. 

Shandy’s dark web advice had led her to a lovely guide on vagal inhibition, so she places her hands just so, and squeezes, hard. 

It’s not prolonged, like suffocation; it’s peaceful, even, the way she feels the carotid stop pulsing, his body frozen. She takes a moment to relish the feeling (and then, the thought of Judy finding out what she’s done) before removing her hands.

Jen chuckles as she pushes his body aside (no, she won’t be calling it a corpse, Shandy, she’s a killer but she’s not a fuckin’  _ creep _ ) and grabs the pad and paper to write a suicide note. 

_ Couldn’t live with the weight of what I’ve done.  _

_ I’m so sorry to everyone I’ve hurt. I won’t hurt anyone anymore.  _

She wipes the belt and pen clean of fingerprints, donning a pair of gloves to place the belt around his neck. The ties it to the headboard for some good old fashioned auto-erotic asphyxiation from the “victim.” 

She slips the bottle of pills out of her pocket onto the bed, to really sell it, and then makes her escape. 

_

Judy’s pacing the kitchen when she gets home, clearly agitated, but at least sober this time. 

“Where were you Jen? And why do you smell like cologne? What the  _ fuck _ ?” 

She’s angry, and jealous, and Jen thinks about all the power she has, all the things she is capable of, and she turns to ice, stopping Judy in her tracks with a look. 

“I found a way to stop missing it.” 

Judy does a double take, before Jen nods ( _ yes, I  _ **_did_ ** _ kill again, Judy _ ,  _ and I thought about you the whole time),  _ and then? She pounces. 

Judy’s hands are in her hair and her legs are around her waist and she’s kissing Jen like she’ll die if she stops for a moment (and Jen doesn’t actually want that, who would she brag about killing Judy to?)

Jen grabs Judy’s ass and carries her upstairs, and she’s a helluva lot lighter than the dead rapist she moved an hour ago. 

She’s more forceful than she intends when she throws Judy onto the bed (oh, what wonderful parallels life has provided tonight), but Judy doesn’t mind, already moaning and arching her hips up to resume her contact with Jen’s body. 

Jen has never fucked a woman before, had never considered it as something she’d be capable of, but it’s a considerably smaller leap to make than murder. She would say less messy, too, but given the way Judy’s left a damp patch on her clothes, that may not actually be true. 

(She keeps them on.)

Judy’s wearing a wrap dress, which Jen quickly unties, before straddling her waist and pinning Judy’s hands above her head. 

“Why are you so wet, Jude?” 

“You knowwww,” Judy whines. 

“I need you to tell me, baby,” Jen drags her fingertips between Judy’s legs, feeling cotton and  _ heat _ . 

“Thinking about you,” Judy gasps, rocking into Jen’s hand. 

“Thinking about me what?” Jen encourages her by hooking her fingers into the elastic waistband. 

“Thinking about you… killing a man.” 

Jen rewards her with direct contact, and Judy thrusts to meet her hand, already desperate to be fucked. 

“Aw, you knew it was a man.  _ Good girl _ .” 

“I know what you like.” 

(Judy’s attempting her usual flirtatiousness, but it doesn’t hit the same when she’s crying out as Jen scissors her fingers inside of her.) 

  
  


Jen hums in satisfaction. 

“And what do  _ you _ like, Jude?” 

Judy sighs, distracted, and Jen bites her neck, hard, before moving down to her breasts, pushing Judy’s bra roughly aside. 

“ _ Tell me _ .” 

“I like knowing what you’ve done, Jen, what those hands have done, feeling them on me and inside of me, fuck, Jen, I like knowing the power you have, you using some of it on me.” 

Jen smirks. 

“Am I powerful enough to make you come on command?” 

“Oh, babe, I’ve been ready to come for ages, I was just waiting on the word,” Judy laughs. 

Jen meets her insolence with a twist of her wrist and a scrape of her teeth. 

“Go ahead, then. I’ve had a long, fucking night, Jude.” 

That does it, the reference to her earlier activities, and Judy shakes, flooding Jen’s hand, before bucking off the bed a few times as if she’s been electrocuted. 

(She just changed these fucking sheets.) 

Judy promptly passes out, and Jen takes a shower, washing off the smell of sex and cigarettes and rapist cologne. 

She doesn’t cry. 

_ 

Judy looks relaxed when Jen emerges from the bathroom, clearly experiencing no regrets. She’s thrown her clothes into a pile on the floor, naked and happy and comfortable in her own skin.

She motions for Jen to join her, and Jen does, shedding her robe without a thought, meeting Judy’s warm skin with her own. 

They lie there, in silence, Jen’s arms warm and safe around Judy. 

“Do you think you’ll do it again?” 

_ There it is.  _

“I- I don’t know.” 

“If you do...” Judy says, as if they were talking about getting pizza for the second time in a week, “can I watch?” 

_ Fuck.  _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuck it, they kill Hastings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back by popular demand, you sick fucks.

It’s not hard, really, for Jen to rationalize her actions. 

Killers walk free every day without even getting charged- the doctor who convinced her mom she had nothing to worry about until it was too late; the cops who let drunk drivers go with a slap on the wrist. Hell, George W. Bush is fucking painting dogs right now with nary an indictment.

It’s not like she’s on a killing spree- as fun as it was to murder a rapist piece of shit, there are only so many of those around (that she would be able to identify, anyway), and her boys are still more important than satisfying her midlife bloodlust crisis. 

She waits for the needle to drop, the knock on her door signifying someone is here to arrest her, but it never comes. 

According to Perez, who dropped the news the next week over coffee, deaths get ruled suicides much quicker when the deceased is already loathed by the police. She gives Jen a long once-over, then, before warning her. 

“I know what you’re capable of, Jen, and frankly, I don’t want to know the answers, but be smart about it, yeah? I don’t have any power to help you out, now. Even if I think the ends might justify the means.” 

Jen just shrugs. 

“I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about. You really _do_ need to get a hobby.” 

_

Judy switches it off pretty well, the seemingly boundless desire for Jen’s homicidal qualities, when the boys are back home. 

Maybe that’s why things just kind of… go back to normal. She stays in the guest house, Jen stays in her bedroom, and Judy limits her blatant lip-licking to the choicest of moments, like when Jen is sharpening a knife, or opening a particularly difficult jar. 

As for herself, Jen feels both more settled (what with having gotten a hit of the sweet, sweet satisfaction of ending a man’s life by her own hand) _and_ more hardened. 

Charlie asks if she’s sleeping better— she apparently looks better-rested (maybe she can market this as a life-hack to fight premature aging, surely there’s a market for that), and Henry is thrilled she has enough spare serenity to both attend his Holy Harmonies dress rehearsal _and_ to provide snacks afterward. 

Judy acknowledges it out loud, once, when she and Jen are sharing a blanket on a marginally chillier evening (December in Laguna is the Halo Top™ of seasons; bland and the completely wrong texture). 

Jen’s running her hands across Judy’s legs, absentmindedly, as they watch some Hallmark monstrosity. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it- and maybe we shouldn’t ever bring it up again,” she looks down at Jen’s hands, clearly remembering, “but that was the best night of my life.” 

Jen’s movements still, her grip on the blanket suddenly tight, her whole body constricting with the unbidden memory. 

“Well, you know, Jude, Christmas miracles apparently happen. Don’t count one out just yet.” 

Judy smiles, like she just promised her the fuckin’ Cabbage Patch Doll she always wanted. 

_

Perez is in a particularly bad mood today which is saying something considering her general vibe is _fuck you and the luxury SUV you rode in on_ (but like, in an amiable way, now). 

“Is Judy fucking another one of your exes, or…?” 

“Hastings is out. Plea bargain, good behavior, and still too many fucking connections. And your joke sucks.” 

Jen frowns. 

“That’s like what, a year and a half he was in?” 

Perez scoffs. 

“Well, most rich white guys don’t even get booked, so, you know, progress.” 

“Fuck. At least he won’t still be a cop, though?” 

“He’ll probably go hide out in his fucking hunting lodge; he always bragged about it to the other chauvinist pigs on the force, brought them out for manly bonding weekends or whatever. Bitch.” 

“So, pretty far from Laguna?” 

(It’s a leading question, perhaps, but she and Perez have always had a bit of an unspoken bond.) 

“Up towards Mammoth. _Remote_.” 

“Well I hope he fucking never leaves there. Gets eaten by a bear or goes crazy from sensory deprivation.” 

“I never want to see him here again, that’s for sure.”

(It’s as much of a blessing as Jen’s ever going to get.)

_

For once in her life, Jen’s realtor license comes in handy. 

It’s not hard to find the listing for Hastings’ “cabin” (which was probably a way to launder money, given how much over market-value it sold, but that’s not her concern right now). 

The boys are gone with Lorna on their annual ski trip (fucking _gross._ Jen has no interest in snow if it’s not turned grey with exhaust and air pollution.Ted always bragged about how they were only a few hours from snow, sand, and water, and Jen thinks that none of that fucking matters if you can’t get a decent fucking bagel, but that’s just one more dream deferred, isn’t it?), and Judy’s eyes light up when Jen asks if she’s up for a road trip. 

“Um… what should I pack?” 

“Something you don’t mind burning.” 

_

Jen’s learned her lessons from the first time around: always wear gloves, file away serial numbers, be _fucking cool_. 

The last part’s the hardest given the anticipation that builds with each mile they drive. 

“You don’t think it’s dangerous, going after him alone?” 

“Judy, I don’t think you’re in a position to judge danger. Besides, we have the element of surprise.”

“Still, it’s a bold target. Really sweet of you to do this for Perez, actually. I knew you were a softie all along.” 

“Yes, Judy, that’s why you keep squirming in your seat, isn’t it? Because I’m _so_ thoughtful and considerate.” 

Judy smirks, and Jen rubs her thumb against the clasp of her holster. 

They’ve covered their bases: taking Judy’s shitty old car without any electronic tracking devices; paying for gas (and other accelerants) in cash, leaving their phones at home and printing the directions to the property from the library on incognito mode. 

(Lorna hadn’t been happy about that, when Jen said she’d be out of reception for the whole day, but possibly missing a call about Charlie falling on his snowboard while trying to impress a girl is less important than making sure Mommy stays out of prison.) 

Jen’s ready to take her shot, too; Perez had suggested they spend some time at the range, for self-protection purposes, when she’d mentioned Hastings was out (in case _he_ wanted revenge, which, _ha_ ). 

It’s a winding gravel road out to the cabin, and Jen really hopes she doesn’t get carsick. 

(Not sexy, not cool, not intimidating.)

“It’s kind of a murdery vibe, don’t you think?” Judy muses. 

“I mean, that’s _kind of_ the goal, isn’t it?” 

“What if he has, like security?”

“He can’t afford it- Perez said he forfeited most of his assets as part of the deal. He was higher up than Steve, but there’s still plenty of powerful Greek mobsters who want him dead.” 

“You know, you’ll probably be more humane than those guys. I mean, they _really_ like to draw it out and send a message. You’re efficient, and I _love_ that about you.”

“Not really the point, Judes.” 

“Still. I think it’s nice.” She quietly rolls the car to a stop, cuts the engine as they finish coasting. “Okay, looks like we’re here. Good to go?” 

Judy attempts to put on a brave face, manage Jen’s emotions, instead of her own but her pupils are already blown wide, her grip on the steering wheel tight as if she’s been visualizing Jen in cold-blooded killer mode. 

The feeling of being watched takes Jen’s already heightened awareness to a whole new level 

(She supposes murder is like sex in that way: being watched makes it that much hotter. But Jen’s had more quality kills in the past few years than good fucks. She suspects that like most things, this particularly one will be even better due to Judy’s involvement.) 

Her movements that follow are deliberate, measured, but occur as if she’s outside her own body, watching herself, but also sensing Judy’s every reaction- the hitch of her breath, the flush of her cheeks. The tension in her body _begging_ to be released. 

Jen unholsters her gun, takes a deep breath, and opens the car door. The metal of the handle is cool, like the gun in her hands. 

It’s windy and cold at this altitude, and her eyes water as she braces herself, reminds her body that this is what it was born to do. 

She keeps the gun drawn as they walk, Judy trailing behind her, nervous and enraptured. 

(Jen briefly wonders if this was how Judy was her first time having sex, if she waited to be told what to do or jumped right into it. Was she hypnotized and awed? Or did that come later? Did she want Jen before she knew who she _really_ was? )

Jen moves slowly (they’re both wearing old pairs of Ted’s shoes- one more way to evade detection, but an awkward one), but their arrival is still not quite silent—Hastings opens the door as they approach it. 

It’s three in the afternoon but he’s clearly been day drinking.

Cheap gin, Jen can smell it from here, which is a fucking geriatric choice, but probably makes him an easier target. 

She almost feels bad for the guy, before she remembers that a) he’s a fucking _dick,_ and b) if Judy wants to watch her fucking kill someone, she’s going to _fucking kill someone_. 

He chuckles and sways a bit as Jen stares them down. 

“Oh, what, you’re gonna shoot me?”

Okay, not only is Jen going to fucking kill someone, she’s going to _enjoy it_. 

(Good to know she’s still got it. Nothing worse than realizing your gift for homicide was merely a fluke.) 

“Shut the fuck up,” Jen hisses. 

He eases back a little bit, holding his hands in the air. 

“Hey, there’s plenty of people that want me dead, at least you’ll make it quick.”

“See, Jen, I _told_ you-” 

“Listen up, fucko, I want you to know exactly _why_ I’m doing this, okay?” 

Jen is, after all, here to put on a show. 

Judy doesn’t want an assassin. Jen knows she gets off on how fucking visceral it is for Jen to kill a man ( _always_ a man, she knows that, now.) That the fact she’s filled with rage and not merely fulfilling a contract gets her off as much as the feeling of giving in to that seemingly never-ending well of anger makes Jen feel like she could fucking fly. 

Hastings rolls his eyes, and Jen feels that strange settling within her, the knowledge that there is no going back now, that this man will die before she leaves him. 

It’s a chilly sort of calm; ice in her veins. She enjoys the sparkle of fear she can see in his eyes now- just because he doesn’t want to live doesn’t mean he woke up this morning ready to die. 

Too bad it’s not his fucking _choice._

Jen’s voice comes out robotic, emotionless. 

“I did my research, you know? Not only are there a half-dozen harassment claims against you, there’s two decades of unpunished police brutality in your wake, too.” 

“Oh please, those thugs deserved it.” 

Then, the rage kicks in. Hot and liquid, like the feeling of plunging her fingers into Judy’s cunt for the first time, too warm and welcoming to deny.

“I said _shut. The fuck. Up._ Now, I’m happy to let the people you’ve harmed get their own revenge, but see, you went after my _son_ . And you went after _Judy_ \- “

He lunges then in a lopsided attempt to make it out of here alive and Jen shoots on reflex, hitting him squarely in the chest. 

All she feels in the moment is the squeeze of her finger on the trigger, quickly followed by the shock of recoil. 

Climax; aftershock. 

(With Judy, she hadn’t been quite sure whether the killing was sex or the sex was killing. Judy’s gasp as the shot rings out makes a _very_ strong case for the former.)

It’s a clean shot, as clean as you can get and yet gunshots are inevitably messy. In the hyperfocus of the moment she sees the ragged edges of the wound, feels the mist of his blood rebounding off the bullet back towards her. 

The inertia carries him forward a bit, but his eyes are glassy, blood blooming into a stain on the floor in front of them. Jen unloads the gun and drops it, then strips off her gloves, pocketing them and turning to Judy, who’s stock-still. 

The air is filled with the pungent smell of gunpowder. Underneath, subtle notes of blood. 

(Put that in your fucking open house candle lineup, Lorna.) 

Judy just stares, open mouth and awed, and if Jen didn’t know better, she’d say she’d already been fucked. 

But she hasn’t, and Jen feels a pang of self-consciousness at the fact that her victim was drunk, sloppy, and didn’t even let her finish her _very good_ speech. 

“Well fuck, sorry Jude, that was kind of anti-climactic. Not really the kill I wanted for you.” 

Judy moves closer, mesmerized, and runs a finger gently over Jen’s cheek, wiping away droplets of blood. She stares first at her own hands, then looks at Jen with something approaching awe. 

“It was perfect.” 

_ 

They fuck on the couch (it’s all going up in flames, anyways, why wait?), Judy riding Jen’s hand as Jen leaves increasingly more visible marks across her neck and chest. 

(She whines when Jen sucks on her nipples; she _screams_ when she bites them.) 

Judy tastes like salt and lavender. The slightest bit of spray has marked Judy’s neck with faint red droplets- Jen avoids that part, wants Judy to have the thrill of seeing it later, washing it off reverently in the mirror. 

Judy moves against her, silently asking for more, but Jen likes to hear her, _needs_ to hear her beg for it. 

No one has ever begged her for a thing in her life, before Jude. 

(She’s not sure she can go back to before that truth existed.) 

“Use your words, Jude.” 

“Fuck, Jen, I want to touch you. I want to see you come.” 

(It’s not that Jen doesn’t _want_ to be touched; they both know that’s not what _this_ is. Jen goes in for the kill, as it were.) 

“That’s not how this works, baby. You come for _me_ , remember?” 

Judy laughs, breathy and desperate. 

“Oh, I remember. I’ve _remembered_ almost every night since. God, I’ve been waiting _so long_ for you to fuck me again.” 

Jen bites down harder on her breasts as Judy talks, before soothing the reddened skin with her tongue. 

“Do you fuck yourself when you remember, hmmm?” 

Judy grinds against Jen’s palm in response. Jen slips another finger in (three seems fitting, with this one making a hat trick of dead bodies in Jen’s wake) and curls them towards herself, hitting the spot that makes Judy’s thighs quake. 

She loves that Judy can’t stop pushing her buttons, even like this. Loves that Judy still runs that _confessy_ little mouth. And she loves most the things that Judy confesses to her, when she’s rocking her hips into Jen’s lap and holding onto her shoulders for dear life. 

“Tell me _how_ , Jude.” 

“I think about you, how strong you were, when you killed them, how tight your grip was on my wrists and my hips, and I fuck myself with a cock that I bought hoping you’d use it on me.” 

“Judy, you know I don’t like it when you keep secrets from me,” Jen bites the juncture of her neck and shoulder, before raking the nails of her free hand down Judy’s back.

“Oh, fuck, Jen, I’m sorry-” 

(She’s close now, Jen can feel it in the pressure against her fingers, the wetness coating her own thighs.) 

“Don’t fucking apologize, Judy. Show me. _Show_ me it’s better with me, that you only want me to fuck you, baby.”

“God, only you, always you, Jen,” Judy pants. Jen thinks Judy might get off on this bit as much or more than all the rest, the idea that there is no other and could never be. 

“I kept you safe, right? That fucker came at you and I shot him fucking dead, Judes, just for you/ It’s okay, now, baby, come for me.” 

Judy is _loud_ , and Jen is glad they’re in the middle of fucking nowhere. 

She dismounts Jen with a ragged sigh and slumps against the couch, leaning her head on Jen’s shoulder. 

“I don’t deserve you.” 

“Jude, babe, I think we deserve each other. I think we really, really deserve each other.” 

Judy smiles dreamily, but alas, Jen doesn’t have time for an afterglow today—she tosses Judy her clothes and walks back out to the car, grabbing the containers of gas, lighter fluid, and paint thinner. 

“You’re not taking any chances, huh?” 

Jen shrugs, dousing Hastings' body with a mixture of the three before walking the perimeter of the cabin, leaving a trail of accelerants behind her. She leads a now-clothed Judy back outside, to the waiting car. 

“Want a smoke?” 

Judy declines the offer of a cigarette, but lights Jen’s for her, cupping her jaw, before throwing the match at the cabin and laughing with glee when it ignites. 

Judy’s eyes glow amber in the firelight and golden hour. 

“Merry Christmas, Judy Ann,” Jen murmurs in her ear, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

_

Judy drives them down the mountain to a cheap motor lodge; Jen doesn’t want to think about what a blacklight would show on the bed sheets, but they take cash (and don’t require a credit card for incidentals) and the shower appears to be functional enough for them to wash away the smell of fumes and change into clothes that won’t raise Karen’s eyebrows, should she be on a midnight jog when they get back to Laguna. 

She’s waiting on the bed when Jen gets out of the shower, dressed in a black bra and underwear, stretched out on top of the sheets and flipping through shitty tv channels. 

“You okay?” 

Jen’s come down enough from the kill to revert to her normal curmudgeonliness. 

“Aside from not wanting to know what lives these towels have lived? Sure, I’m fuckin’ dandy.” 

Judy nods, clicking off the television and walking towards Jen, kissing her confidently, as if answering a question Jen didn’t know she’d asked. 

“I know you said that’s not how this works, but I’d still like to, if you’ll let me.” 

Jen feels her body constrict— she doesn’t want to be seen this way, known this way, but Judy already knows so much, has already seen more than anyone else. 

She’s _so tired_ , and Judy’s hands on her shoulders feel _so nice_. 

“What happens at Mountain Motor Motel stays at Mountain Motor Motel, right?” 

“Of course,” Judy nods, mock-serious. 

Jen decides the towel she knows is a better bet than the comforter she doesn’t, and she drapes hers over the bedspread, revealing her body in the process.. 

(They’re too far gone to worry about nudity. And for once, Jen is absolutely confident that her desire is more than reciprocated here.) 

Judy inhales sharply at the sight of Jen, naked and waiting for her, and Jen feels the flush painting by numbers: cheeks, chest, and neck all red and ripe for the picking. 

“You are so fucking beautiful, you know that? God I want to lick every inch of your body.” 

“Well you’ll never achieve your goals if you don’t start on them, Judy, come on.” 

(Jen’s voice is light, but her body is already humming with tension, goosebumps making the faint hairs on her arms visible in the fluorescent light.) 

Judy kisses across Jen’s stomach, dragging her teeth along her hip bones, smiling into her thigh when Jen arches into the feeling. 

Jen doesn’t know how Judy does it, making everything feel so _good_ she doesn’t even have time feel remotely self-conscious. She’s reverent but not precious, and Jen feels deliciously _human_ under her touch. 

Judy leans back on her heels and replaces her mouth with her hands, and they’re everywhere, trailing across Jen’s body, never lingering long enough to give her what she wants. 

Frustration is a feeling Jen knows well, a comforting anchor to keep her from floating completely away. 

“God, Judy, I killed a man for you and you’re going to fucking _tease_ me?” 

“Hmmm, I think you killed at least two for me.” 

Judy’s voice is dark, and smug, and Jen is annoyed at how wet she already is.

The game is lost before it’s truly even begun. 

Judy moves her left hand higher, before resting it on Jen’s sternum, a half-moon an inch from her neck. 

“This is how you did the last one, isn’t it?” 

Jen nods, swallowing hard, both hating and loving the feeling of Judy taking control like this. 

“I love the feeling of hands around my neck,” Judy sighs, dreamily, trailing the fingers of her right hand through Jen’s wetness, swirling it around as if she were about to lead a class on fingerpainting at the nursing home. 

“I’m not sure _he_ did,” Jen husks, attempting an authoritative tone. 

Judy grins, all sunshine, and shifts her body so she’s hovering above Jen. 

Just lean in, baby.” 

“Rude of you to use my own words against me, Jude. I ought to flip you over and teach you a lesson.”

“But you won’t,” Judy sing-songs, circling Jen’s clit. 

“Hmmm, maybe not now, maybe I’ll wait till we get home then I’ll take you from behind over the kitchen island.” 

“Oh, that sounds, _nice_ ,” Judy sighs, rubbing the back of her knuckles against Jen’s center, moving the hand on her chest ever so slightly closer to her neck.

Jen’s arms are free to move wherever they want to, to do anything they want. 

(She twists them in the bedsheets, and leans into Judy’s touch.)

An involuntary moan escapes her, at the feeling of the warm fingers against her skin, the knowledge that they could hurt her, but they absolutely won’t. 

Judy lets her set the pace and the pressure, just providing calm steadiness as Jen gives into the sensations she’s feeling; the throbbing of her clit, the rush of her blood in her ears, the movement in her hips she can’t seem to stop. 

Jen can’t parse out which she wants more- Judy taking control or herself ceding it, but the end result is the same: pushing against steady hands that guide her higher and higher. . 

Jen’s hands destroy, but Judy’s? They create. She’s clay on a pottery wheel, taking a new, beautiful shape. Jen thinks that Judy could absolutely corner the Bob Ross-but-make-it-sexy with the gentle edge her voice brings. 

“That’s it baby, you deserve to feel so good, god, I’ve dreamed about what this would be like, touching you, watching you come.” 

“Fuck, Jude, I’ve never been this wet for anyone, I swear.” 

She feels the vibration of her vocal chords against Judy’s hand, which just makes her even _wetter,_ makes her grind her hips faster and more erratically, and Judy brings her other hand down from Jen’s neck to press against Jen’s cunt, not fucking her so much as reminding her of Judy’s presence. 

“Fuck, you’re _pretty_.” 

Jen opens her eyes (that she hadn’t realized were closed, and Jesus, it’s been a long time since she’s had sex this good, she’s going to miss it) to see Judy staring reverently at her, admiring her own handiwork. 

She would expect it to feel gross, this naked admiration of her um, pussy, but Jen finds herself spreading her legs at the attention, wanting Judy to objectify her, feeling herself getting closer at the very thought. 

Her word choice is so fucking _sweet_ , too, which just makes Jen want to grind against Judy’s face. 

Maybe next time. 

“Oh, Jen, you are so good to me, can you come for me, baby? Can you come all over my hand?” 

Judy pushes against her, a little harder than before, and every neuron in her body fires in sync.

Jen has never felt so good about living up to someone’s expectations.

_ 

Jen could sleep (god knows she’s long overdue) but Judy is wired, and insists on getting back on the road. 

It’s dark and desolate out here, but they occasionally pass isolated houses with Christmas decorations, and Judy reminisces about driving around with her mom as a kid, how it was fun to be on the move every night when they got to see so many pretty lights. 

“Is that why you like all that cheesy holiday shit?” 

“I just think people need a little hope, Jen. Is that so bad?” 

There’s a firm set to her jaw that suggests she has unspoken wishes, even now, after everything. 

When they stop for gas, Judy brings back Red Bull and Little Debbie Christmas Tree cakes. 

They taste awful, especially in combination, but Jen’s too busy chain smoking to notice. 

“Judes, I think I’m done with the whole murder thing. It was… you know, good while it lasted, but I can’t- It’s not sustainable.” 

Judy nods, the crackle of the AM radio filling the silence that’s descended between them. 

“You’ve kind of ruined me for anyone else, Jen,” Judy laughs, trying in vain to keep the edge of heartbreak out of her voice.”

Jen does a double take, wondering how Judy got to where she is from what Jen said. 

“I didn’t say I was done with _you,_ jeez. I mean, not to be too gay about it, but we’re practically married already.” 

“You’re not just saying that to have the promise of eventual spousal privilege?” 

“Mmmm, keep talking dirty to me, baby.” 

“Fuck you.”

“You did. It was great. We should do it again sometime, that’s all.” 

_

They make it home without incident (Judy has an incredible sense of direction, Jen will give her that) and manage both a long nap, and a barbecue of their clothes from yesterday before the boys get home. 

Judy’s borrowed one of Jen’s old black turtlenecks, which, when coupled with pedal pushers and a ponytail, at least looks like a bold fashion choice. 

“Love the Audrey Hepburn vibe,” Henry approves before scurrying up to his room to put away the new presents from Grandma. 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Christopher-”

“-Thanks, Hen. I’m glad you know the classics.” 

Charlie hangs back, letting his duffel bag flop onto the floor as he narrows his eyes at his mother. 

“I know you two fuck every time we’re away with Grandma.” 

(In the grand scheme of things, better to have him wise to the sex than the homicide, Jen thinks, before her mom brain responds.) 

“Don’t talk to Judy like that!” 

“What makes you think that, Charlie?” 

“You guys are fucking weird! And mom, you’re more mad about me talking about her than I am about you, that’s fucking _gay_ , first of all. “

“Okay, there’s nothing wrong with being gay, Char-”

“I didn’t say there _was._ I said you two _are._ And you don’t have to fucking hide it. I’m sick of grandma trying to show us off to her stupid friends and crying about dad all the time. Like, you two are gross, but Judy’s cool.” 

Judy gives him a little fist bump that Jen dearly hopes isn’t her just like, clandestinely passing him a joint (although she could think of ways to punish her for that transgression). 

“That means a lot to me, Charlie. Thank you,” Judy beams.

Jen crosses her arms and considers her next move. 

“Right, you can skip her New Year’s party and hang out with your friends if you want. And you can tell Henry, just don’t use the word _fucking_ , _please._ ” 

“Seriously? That’s awesome. Thanks, mom!” 

“Yeah, whatever. Put your stuff up then meet us outside, we’re having hot dogs on the grill for lunch.” 

“On Christmas Eve?” 

“Yeah, it’s what they do in Australia, we’re being cultured, alright?” 

Charlie shrugs, secure in the knowledge that he gets actual meat and not soy-dogs.

Henry’s thrilled at the opportunity to cook over a flame (she might have a little pyromaniac on her hands there, something to lookout for, especially when Shandy’s around), and Judy just takes it all in, clearly still stuck in the Hallmark movie of her own creation. 

As the boys eat and swap stories about their ski-slope adventures, Judy leans in close, whispering in Jen’s ear. 

“I think you did a _killer_ job handling Charlie’s reaction.”

  
  


_She’s gonna pay for that_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for supporting me in... this. 
> 
> (be kind to each other out there. avoid homicide, if you can!)

**Author's Note:**

> um... lemme know if you want a part 2, I guess?


End file.
